


False Spite

by MimBeech



Category: Hot Fuzz (2007)
Genre: Anxiety, Frank Discussions, Happy Ending, Honestly Just a Devolution to Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, M/M, Trauma, misuse of medication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 05:10:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13427490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimBeech/pseuds/MimBeech
Summary: Set after the events of Hot Fuzz. Newly promoted Inspector Nicholas Angel struggles to cope with the stress of his position and predicament, Danny Butterman struggles to understand why Nick is avoiding him.CW: misuse of medication, prescription or otherwise.





	False Spite

|  
They go, we go,  
I want you to know  
What I did, I did.  
|

Nick lay awake, 3:00 am, staring unseeing at the ceiling above his bed. His cottage had been finally refurbished. No matter how long he left his windows open to soft autumnal breezes, the reek of new paint persisted.

His mind was swirling, rushing, a blur of gunshots, pools of vibrant red, cracking of skulls on pavement, terror in a schoolchild’s eyes. From the whirl of gore a vision appeared to him, in full clarity – one he’d been plagued with repeatedly since the incident. Danny, his partner Danny, lying half covered in rubble, blood soaking his stomach, his chest. The young Constable’s eyes fluttered, his breathing rattled in Nick’s ears. _Danny, no, Danny, Danny, please_. Holding his hand as he lost consciousness, his grip becoming slack, screaming for help, simply screaming.

Nicholas sat bolt upright, heart pounding in his ears. He stiffly creaked out of bed and stumbled to his ensuite. The layout of his new (more spacious) living quarters was still unfamiliar. He caught his shoulder painfully on the doorframe. 

Reaching the cupboard above the sink, he rifled a few moments through the many bottles of pills and vitamins before him, eventually finding the small bottle he so desperately wanted. It was gently labelled, advertising longer and better sleep, a drawing of pretty flowers. 

Valerian had been his drug of choice for many years now. Preternaturally anxious, insomnia would haunt him sometimes for months. Recurring, then regressing, with no observable pattern, save the surety that the more stressed he was, the less sleep he got.

Hands shaking due to his elevated heart rate – his thoughts now oddly analytical, intellectualising – he dispensed two small blue pills, quickly washing them down with lukewarm water from the cup by his sink.

He slowly made his way back to his bed, breathing carefully, and sat on its edge. He waited for the familiar sensation of no longer being able to remain upright. After a few minutes, he keeled over to one side, tucking his legs up as an afterthought. Finally, in the wee small hours of the morning, Inspector Nicholas Angel stopped thinking.

| | | | |

“Hey, Angel, are you even listening?”

“Hmm?”

“I said… Oi, Angel, can you pay attention for one second, for Chrissakes.”

“That’s Inspector Angel to you, Wainwright, do NOT forget,” Nicholas’ voice rose to an aggravated crescendo, “If you use that tone with me one more time, Detective Constable, I will have you formally rebuked.”

Danny, standing outside the evidence tent on the grounds of Sandford Castle, shared a worried glance with Constable Doris Thatcher. He could now just make out DC Wainwright’s mumbled apology to Nick within the tent.

Doris tapped Danny’s shoulder, “Maybe you could go have a chat with him Danny Boy, he’s been awful shouty lately.”

“Hmm,” Danny considered, his honest face contorting in a frown. “I’ll have a go Doz, I’m not sure what I’ll be able to do.”

“Nonsense, Danny! You and him are good friends, I’m sure you’ll know what to say.”

Danny shrugged, turning away from Doris to focus on his paperwork once more. The truth was, his friendship with Nicholas had been suffering since the shootout with the NWA. His heart sank as he remembered the close bond they’d formed before the incident. Movie nights, pub nights, banter and cornettoes. When Nick uncovered the hidden nature of the NWA, the shootout had been horrific. The discovery of extensive mass graves beneath Sandford Castle had meant chaos had continued well after the main incident. Sandford was now overrun by outside police officers, forensic squads, journalists and contractors. 

Now, two months after the shootout, The Sandford Police Force – _Service_ – had reached a sort of routine. Each local officer spent about half their time at the Castle, and half completing their normal duties. To Danny it seemed that Nicholas, however, had simply doubled his time. He would work full shifts at the demountable office that had been set up in the centre of Sandford, then join the forensic teams and detectives on site at the Castle all other hours. Danny hadn’t seen him outside a work context since he’d been discharged from Buford Abbey Hospital.

Danny himself had taken a month to return to passive service (“Only paperwork and running errands for you my lad”, Sgt Tony had advised, “Even if you have a shiny new promotion.”). His gunshot wound had healed well, he had been given glowing reports by all four of Buford Abbey’s resident doctors. Back on the team, Danny faithfully did as told, completed his work, and helped outsider police officers communicate with Sandford locals. 

Once returned to work, it took him a few days to realise he hadn’t spoken to Nick. Not once. This realisation caused him to seek out his Inspector immediately. Their first conversation had been polite, cordial even. Nicholas had asked after Danny’s health, congratulated him on his promotion, apologised for not seeing the young Sergeant sooner, and explained himself away with the sheer amount of work he was doing cleaning up Sandford Castle. Then, as quickly as Danny had found Nick, he lost him. The newly promoted Inspector’s presence was requested on site in the catacombs of the Castle, and Nicholas bustled off to do his duty, not even saying goodbye.

As if prompted by his worrying train of thought, Danny’s side twinged with pain. He sucked in a surreptitious breath, not wanting to worry PC Doris beside him. He quietly excused himself and quickly walked to the mobile toilet block that had been recently installed, part of the police HQ set-up on the grounds of the Castle. In the bluish, harsh light of the toilet, he splashed water on his face and stared at his reflection in the mirror.

He had lost quite a bit weight since the incident, what with his fortnight-long coma, the effects of his codeine-based pain medication, and just a generally low appetite. His cheeks were sallow, dark circles nestled below his eyes, and new lines had appeared on his forehead and around his mouth. Without looking, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bottle of pain meds, dispensing two and swallowing them dry. He grimaced at the slight bitter taste they left in his mouth, and stepped out of the toilet, into wan autumn sunlight. 

Steeling himself, Danny made a beeline to the tent beside the evidence tent, where Inspector Angel had set up his office.

|  
Tissue and bones, it was a trick,  
This isn’t a gunfight.  
Checking it off my list,  
Unable to rewrite.  
|

Nicholas started at the sound of the flap to his tent-office being drawn aside. He turned sharply, glaring instinctively to indicate that whoever was bothering him now, was disrupting his work. When he realised it was Danny, standing sheepishly just inside the entrance, his face softened, a small and rare smile brushed his lips for a moment. Then, he carefully schooled his face to an emotionless mask and asked authoritatively, “Can I help you, Sergeant Butterman?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, well, not as such. It’s just, uh, well Doris is worried. Actually we all are, Nicholas.” 

The use of his first name did not escape the Inspector’s attention, but he let it slide, if anyone on his team (anyone in Sandford, in fact) could address him informally, it was Danny. “Worried about what?”

“You,” Danny burst out. His face betraying his distress, his eyes wide. “You’ve been really angry recently, well- not angry, really, more grumpy, I guess… Sometimes you just zone out, we can tell, you know. We’ve all seen it. One second you’re there, then you’re not. Whatever, we’re telling you, you don’t hear it.” Danny looked down, cheeks burning, and fiddled with the zipper on his stab vest. “Nicholas,” his voice now close to a whisper, “I think you’re taking too much on. Working long hours. I don’t think you’re looking after yourself. I wish I could-“ the young Sergeant broke off, reddening, “I wish you would look after yourself.”

Nicholas was speechless. He hadn’t thought his lack of concentration, his mood dysregulation, had been so obvious. Looking at Danny, the young man’s soulful eyes now staring into his own, Nicholas suddenly felt deeply uncomfortable. He retreated to familiar phrasing.

“Your comments will be noted, Sergeant. Thank you for bringing it to my attention. You are dismissed.” Nick’s response was terse and clipped.

“Hang on,” Danny took a step towards Nick’s desk, “That’s it? I know those words, they’re in the Police Service Guidebook for Inter-Officer Communication and Feedback. Do you understand what’s happening? I’m worried about you!” He flushed, “I mean, we’re all worried about you.”

Nick’s eyes sparked in anger, he stood up roughly behind his desk, his flimsy chair falling with a thud behind him. “I do understand Sergeant,” he spoke through clenched teeth, “And as I said, I will take your comments into consideration. I’m sorry if I ever gave you the impression that our relationship was anything other than professional, in the future, I would appreciate your keeping your thoughts to yourself. Now please leave me to do my work!” 

At that, he moved towards the flap of his tent, then suddenly became very pale. His blue eyes rolled upward as he stumbled and fell heavily.

“Nick!” Danny cried out, rushing to the Inspector’s side. He lifted the older man carefully, shifting him onto his side and disentangling his leg from that of his chair. Nicholas let out a pitiful moan, eyelids fluttering, and Danny suddenly noticed a large gash above his eyebrow. Surmising that Nick had hit his head on his desk on the way down, and realising the direness of the situation, he called out in a panic, “Help! Someone, Doris, help! Nick’s hurt!” 

A young female officer whom he didn’t recognise entered the tent, assessed the situation, said something unintelligible and rushed out again. Soon a number of officers were at Danny’s side, he found he couldn’t distinguish the Sandford team from the newcomers, and realised with a sob that it was due to tears clouding his eyes. A rush of emotion as he realised the scale of his friend’s injury caused the tears of spill over his cheeks, ragged sobs heaving from his chest. “Please, please, help him. He fell. He fell.”

| | | | |

The lights in the hospital were weak and dull, the walls were an unpleasant green colour, a smell of disinfectant and misery pervaded its halls. Danny vividly recalled waking up in – and being forced to remain in – this lifeless environment.

Danny currently sat at Nicholas’ side, holding the older man’s hand tightly. Nicholas had been quickly admitted through ER and was now recovering in intensive care. He still had not regained consciousness in the few hours he’d been in hospital. Danny found he could not bring himself to leave his friend. He knew a number of the Sandford team were also waiting outside, they’d gradually left the unconscious Inspector’s side, when waiting for him to wake up had grown tedious. Likely the Andes were attempting unsuccessfully to hit on some nearby nurses, while Doris and Tony had left in search of tea.

Danny remained beside Nicholas, his mind wandering as he aimlessly looked around the plain hospital room. He mused upon what could have caused his friend to reach a stage where he could be so ill. He knew about Nick’s long hours, but otherwise, he was completely unsure about what was going on in the Inspector’s life. 

“You look like shit, Danny.”

The Sergeant started at the sound of Nicholas’ voice. A huge grin spread across his face to see his friend conscious. He huffed in vague laughter, “You don’t look so great yourself, Nick.”

On his hospital bed, a frown settled on Nicholas’ features. He turned his head to look out the window, instead of making eye-contact with Danny.

“I wish you would go.”

“What?” Danny could not believe what he’d just heard Nick utter.

“Just go, Danny. Leave me alone.” The Inspector’s voice was resigned, and bone-tired, his face was impassive. He closed his eyes, resting his head back into the hospital regulation pillow. 

“What are you saying, Nicholas?”

“I can’t have you. What we had, whatever it was, friendship? More? I don’t know.” He took a deep, stabilising breath. “We can’t have it anymore.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying Nick. You just woke up.”

“No, I do know what I’m saying. I can’t let myself forge close relationships with colleagues again. I learnt this in London, then I forgot it here in Sandford. But it’s not good. It’s not good,” he repeated, appearing now to almost be talking to himself. “What if I lose you, Dan? What happens then? Policework is dangerous, I know this, you know this. I can’t lose you. Not again.”

Danny felt a grain of irritation at this. Who did Nicholas think he was, to tell Danny what to do? “Oh, shut up. Stop being daft. Of course you won’t lose me, Nick.”

Nick’s eyes flicked wide open, he stared penetratingly at the younger man. “Get out,” he growled. “Get the fuck out of my life, Daniel Butterman. I don’t want you and I never will.”

Danny was blown away. Never had Nick talked to him like this. He spluttered for a few moments, mouth opening and closing, a sob threatening to spill from his throat. Then he abruptly stood and ran out of the room. He ran forcefully to the wall on the opposite side of the corridor, slamming his hands a number of times against it, disrupting the paperwork on a noticeboard close by. As a single flyer fluttered down, he felt a small hand rest on his arm.

He turned, found himself facing Doris, and flung himself upon her. Sobbing freely into her bony shoulder.

Doris cooed, petting his back, slightly bemused by how the young man had to stoop to hug her “There now, Danny Boy. What’s the matter with you?” She gently pulled him off her – there’s only so much melodrama a Police Officer can take, after all – and led him to sit on a bench further down the hall. She waited for Danny’s ragged cries to subside before asking, “I take it he’s awake then. What’s he said to you now, Danny?”

Danny nodded, taking in a shuddering breath, “He hates me Doz. He really does. He said he never wants to see me again.”

“Oh now, that can’t be true, can it?” PC Thatcher’s voice was soft, almost cajoling.

“Well, it is,” Danny stated with conviction. “And I thought- I thought we were- I thought-“ He sobbed afresh, holding his face in his hands.

“You thought you had something special, eh?”

Danny took in a breath and looked at Doris, “You could tell?”

“O’course I could, Danny Boy. You’re as easy to read as a book, one of them nice short ones mind, with a bit of raunchy love-making to boot.” The Constable winked, but her joke went unnoticed. Danny appeared deep in thought.

“You know,” Doris continued, “I couldn’t actually tell with him, though. With Angel. He’s a tough one to read.” She patted Danny’s back again, wanting his full attention, “Do you know when I finally knew he cared about you just as much? When you were in hospital and he never left your side. He practically moved in to your room, the two weeks you were in a coma. You probably don’t remember waking up,” her voice grew quiet, “but he was there. The smile on his pecker was huge, Danny, huge. He kept touching your face too.” She sighed and clasped her hands together in her lap, “Then he changed. He just left, and didn’t come back. Of course, you just remember that he didn’t visit at all. But he was there Dan, only you were asleep, see?”

Danny didn’t speak, couldn’t speak, his mind spinning. Could it be true? Could Nicholas – his Nicholas – have feelings for him?

At that moment, the two police officers were approached by a doctor. He had an air of Sandford’s now-deceased Dr. Hatcher, minus the homicidal tendencies. The resemblance caused Danny to flinch out of his reverie.

“Yeah?” he asked hoarsely.

“You’re colleagues of Mr. Angel, yes? I just wanted to let you know what the blood results have indicated.” He pulled a chair around so he could sit facing Danny and Doris. “We found traces of Valerian, and a large amount of paracetamol – pain killers – it would appear that he combined the two drugs. They’re well known for being incompatible, causing dizziness, confusion, and loss of consciousness. His liver is currently struggling to process both the Valerian and pain killers he has ingested – the best we can do is monitor him, keep a drip up to him, and let his body do its thing. Do you have any questions?”

Doris piped up, “How long do you think he’ll need to stay Doctor?”

The doctor considered, “Perhaps overnight, more likely two nights. Considering he hit his head in the fall, we do want to be sure he isn’t badly concussed.”

Doris nodded, then turned to Danny. “Did you want to know anything, Danny?”

“No,” Danny responded, “I can’t think.”

Doris hummed, “Ok, well, thank you for letting us know all this Doctor.”

The doctor stood to leave, then added, “You should watch him, you know, when he’s discharged. He needs to be careful about the doses he takes, and about combining dangerous drugs.”

Doris agreed, “Yes, of course Doctor, I’m sure our Danny here will take good care of Nicholas. Won’t you Dan?”

“What? Uh, yeah… yeah, o'course.”

“Well that’s settled,” Doris also stood, “Thanks again for your time Doctor. I think we should go see how Nick’s doing.”

Danny also stumbled upright, nodding to the doctor, and followed Constable Thatcher into Nicholas’ room.

|  
I’m gonna take a stab at this  
Surely we’ll be alright.  
Make a decision with a kiss,  
Baby I have false spite.  
|

Nick was lying motionless when Danny and Doris entered the room. The sickly blue colour of the sheets made him look even paler than his usual pallor. Three basic stitches held the cut above his eye together – Danny noticed for the first time that some blood had congealed in Nick’s fair hair.

Doris was the first to reach Nicholas’ side, she reached out and gently shook his shoulder to rouse him. “You’ve been a bit of a right bastard, haven’t you, sir.” She whispered admonishingly.

Nick simply looked confused, then caught sight of Danny hovering behind his Constable, and immediately a look of deep sadness occupied his face. 

Doris pulled Danny to stand alongside her, “You two best have a chat. And a proper one at that. Ok?” She patted his shoulder once, amiably, then left the room, two mildly confused men in her wake.

A silence grew between Danny and Nicholas, the latter refusing to look in the former’s direction, and the former twisting his hand agitatedly as he tried to think of what to say to the latter.

Danny broke the silence, “Nick- I mean, Nicholas. Doris was telling me how you were there, with me, when I was in a coma all those weeks ago. I, um, I guess I should say thanks. Thanks for watching over me.”

“Don’t say that, Danny.” Nicholas looked pained, “Not after all I’ve done to you.”

“You haven’t done nothing though, Nicholas. That’s just it. You might’ve said some hurtful things, but you were scared weren’t you.” Danny moved to perch on the side of the Inspector’s bed. “I think we was all scared, after the incident.”

Nicholas nodded, and Danny noticed there were tears running down the older man’s cheeks.

Danny continued, “I think I know what’s between us now. I think I know how you feel. At first, I wasn’t sure. You’re a real bugger for hiding your thoughts, Nichol-arse.” This small joke, this slight ribbing, caused the Inspector’s lips to quirk up in what might have been a smile. Danny felt his confidence growing as he verbalised all he had felt for Nick up to this point.

“I care about you, Nick. I really do. At first I thought, ‘yeah, that’s just hero worship you wally’, but then I realised, you were my best friend, and more…” He trailed off thoughtfully, when he spoke again, his voice was contemplative. “And I reckon, after what Doris told me, after all I know about you… I reckon you feel something for me too.”

Danny had said it simply, but the realisation, the sheer impact of his words upon Nicholas, was instantaneous. Inspector Nicholas Angel – hero of Sandford, one-time lone sheriff of this small part of the world – turned to look at his partner, reaching a reverential hand to his face. Nick stroked a single line down the younger man’s face, letting his hand rest under his chin. Slowly, gently, but surely, he guided Danny’s lips downward to meet his own. 

The two shared a soft and chaste kiss. As Danny’s eyes slipped shut, lights exploded behind his eyelids. He felt that he was both grounded and soaring at once.

All too soon, the two men parted. Nicholas was panting, looking utterly fearful. On the other hand, it took Danny a few seconds to take a breath. When he did it was slow and sighing, he reached to take both of Nicholas’ hands in his own. 

Nicholas’ jaw was tight, his brow furrowed. He squeezed Danny’s hands tightly, “I’m sorry, Danny. I really am. I pushed you away, just when you needed a friend most.” He looked away, suddenly frowning bitterly. “I’ve been so afraid, so afraid. I thought, if I could let you go, then I’d never have to worry about you, I’d never have to see you die again.” 

Danny made soft hushing noises as Nick once more lapsed into strained silence, obviously trying (and somewhat failing) not to cry. Danny ran his hands softly up and down Nicholas’ forearms, in a familiar, soothing motion. “I get it, Nick, I really do. But for Chrissakes, if you ever do something so cruel again, I won’t be the one who’s dying.”

Nicholas fell silent for a moment, he looked downward, studying his hands in Danny’s own. When he did speak, it was a hoarse whisper. “I haven’t really slept since the incident. Not properly, not without drugs.”

“Oh, Nick.”

“I think I’m going mad. Every night I see things. I see blood, and bone, and I hear the screaming. I see you Danny, I see you lying there--” Nicholas broke off, his face contorted with emotion, he tried and failed to suppress yet more fresh sobs.

“You’re not mad, Nick, you’re not. I’m pretty sure that’s normal. I mean, I still get flashes of memory and stuff. It’s shitty, it really is. But you don’t have to go it alone.” Danny reached to wipe the tears, only somewhat roughly, from his friend’s face. “Don’t push me away, Nick. Don’t you fucking dare push me away. Never again.” Danny’s voice was raw, angry. Now he knew, now all the facts were presented before him. He would never again let indecision come between him and the man he loved. _Loved_. Danny’s internal monologue surprised him in its simplicity, and its accuracy.

| | | | |

During Nicholas’ stay in Buford Abbey Hospital, every member of the Sandford Police Service had visited him. The single table in the room had been covered with bunches of cottage flowers (Walker had explained the origin of his bouquet rather succinctly: ‘oijusspull’ emup from’ eoldlady’ sgar’en, no proll’em’). Desk Sergeants Turner and Turner had quickly dropped in with a bowl of biscuits they’d baked fresh that morning. Constable Thatcher had brought in a suggestively shaped balloon, which had caused the Andes to erupt in laughter when they visited themselves, bringing with them yet more flowers and a large bowl of grapes.

Danny had visited most, of course. He stayed by Nick’s side for hours on end, discussing the plot points of his favourite movies, or contradictions he found in the Rules and Guidelines for Police Service Operation (2005). The two men had quieter conversations sometimes, how Danny felt about his father, how Nick was coping with increased responsibility, quietly coming to terms with the carnage both men had survived.

It was Danny, too, who picked Nicholas up from the hospital upon discharge, two nights after admission. Danny hugged him warmly in the hospital foyer, now secure in his feelings for his superior officer. Bundled in Danny’s new Prius (‘It’s a step up from a Datsun, don’t ya think, Nick?’), driving down the small country lanes on the way back home to Sandford, Nick felt a wave of peace and wholeness.

“You’ll stay with me tonight?” He asked Danny.

“O’course I will, Nicholas.”

|  
They go, we go,  
I want you to know  
What I did, I did.  
|

Life in Sandford was still hard sometimes. Nicholas still had trouble sleeping, although he only needed pills a few nights a week now. Danny still fretted about their relationship, though he was learning how Nick expressed (and more often, didn’t express) his emotions. Moreover, Nick encouraged Danny to see a therapist – which required a tedious drive to Buford Abbey once a fortnight – the Inspector knew his partner needed someone to talk to about his father, his mother, the _incident_.

The Sandford Police Service continued on, bumbling and honest. Autumn became winter, winter turned to spring. The Andes continued to be dicks, Thatcher continued telling terrible jokes, Walker was habitually incoherent, and Fisher generally incompetent. However, every member of the team appreciated their Inspector’s calmer, more measured, outlook. Nicholas Angel managed his division firmly, but fairly, rarely lost his temper, and occasionally joined Doris in her downright rude sense of humour.

The best change – something every Police Officer in Sandford could agree upon – was in Danny. Their Danny, whom they’d all known from childhood. Gradually, as months passed, years even, he became more confident, more self-assured, he went on extra training courses (special ones, like driving safety and career development) and most of all, he was happy. 

On rare occasions, Danny’s confidence bubbled over. To the delight of Sandford’s Police Service, the young Sergeant could be spotted giving the Inspector’s arse a cheeky swipe, or kissing his cheek as he pored over endless paperwork, or holding his hand as the two signed off from their shifts. 

Nicholas remained true to Danny’s demand that day in the hospital. He never let his anxiety cause him to push away those he loved most, particularly that bright young man he’d allowed into his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> • Con-crit would be greatly appreciated, I made a lot of plot revisions, so let me know if something’s not right – I’ll fix it!  
> • Valerian’s a tricky drug, it can’t be ingested with a bunch of other things, I’m not sure how a hospital would truly deal with an overdose. Frankly, I’ve made these events up to suit my dramatic needs ;)  
> • Lyrics are from _Ready, Able_ by Grizzly Bear.  
>  • Hurt/Comfort is my favourite trope – I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
